.
put those fears
down. It is
safe
here.
You need to
rest. You can always pick
them up again
in the morning,
but then
you may not need to.
.
.
put those fears
down. It is
safe
here.
You need to
rest. You can always pick
them up again
in the morning,
but then
you may not need to.
.
.
On my way to the letterbox
I met this god
who knew me.
So I ran
.
in fear because I
didn’t even know
myself the way he looked
through me. Stone
.
gods stare at nature un-
moved so I didn’t
run to them. Money
gods take. All the
.
pleasure gods leave
me starving for
more and more… I want
more. So I keep
.
running around
the block knowing
he’s beside
the letterbox. Knowing one
.
day I’ll realise
this is stupid
stop and say
“Umm… Hi”
.
.
it hardly seems fair
this piece of outdoor
furniture demands
my attention on a day like today
the first sun
in two weeks
wind howling
to play with that kite
we’ve used once
my son jumping
to bounce on the trampoline with me
until our heads turn into electricity
but the gaping
grains of cypress whine louder than the wind
.
the skin on my hands would love to be bathed
in oil – to look and feel like last year
instead they’ll smell
like turps for the next two days
next time
I sit on this bench I expect
it to write me a better
poem
than this one.
.
.
you rage green
in tie-dye
at my son
picking up a stone
.
he is not
moving it
with machine
to build another
shopping center
.
and one day
he may
also appreciate
the stone
where it sits
.
but he
is
being one
with nature
when his own nature
appreciates
it
l o
P p!
in the waves
.
.
.
I envy you ocean
though you toil with
your work right now
in a few days
you will rest
.
how long though… have you been at it?
.
You Are A Story
Picked From The Great Book Shelf
Read Aloud Daily
.
.
November night old familiar friend
Let’s sit and be old friends again
.
Gaze at your stars till eyes grow weary
Sit and watch your thin clouds clearing
.
Again you’ve hung your humid coat on the hook of crescent moon
Still it hangs between intermittent soft breeze awakening, stirring
.
I enjoy our thoughts which pass unspoken of today, tomorrow, morning
Just to sit here, be here, breathe your soft night’s story
.
Unspoken air, warm yet cool, still yet moving slight
Breathe on me your quiet quilt of Queensland November night
It Is A Long Tough Road
On Your Hands
And Knees To Find God.
With No Shortcuts.
But If You’re Brave
Enough To Read This Far…
Don’t Move.
Just Sit There…
He Found You.
Write thy worries upon black board List them, each one, bring them forw’d Let each stand out, give each time Give each moments of your mind But… Do not think there for too long Move on, look past, though’ t may feel wrong Take the duster in thy hand Wipe it clean like tide washed sand
|
To all the mums – you deserve to find a moment of peace at least once a day. You are all amazing. May you find a space…
Find a space.
Upon a rock.
Against a tree.
Beneath your noisy children three.
Ignore your ears.
And all the voices.
For just a moment, shut off your mind.
Pull your eyelids low, unwind.
And even if you cannot spare
Some momentary silence
Even if you are not able
With all your work and kids and the breakfast table.
Keep going with your daily chores.
And inside your precious heart…
… Just sit.
…And listen.
To the lover of your soul.
Copyright © Andrew Phillips 2009